The Day Dumbledore Snapped
by Kitty Smith
Summary: Albus Dumbledore has a difficult job. Well, two difficult jobs. Alright, three. And maybe he also runs a vigilante organization on the side- we're getting off track. The point is, sometimes even the mighty Leader of the Light gets a little... Off. Warning(s): crack!fic, crazy!Dumbledore, ridiculousness
1. Hogwarts

**This shouldn't be too long a story so long as I don't get carried away, expect 2-3 chapters. It's just a crack!fic to get rid of the Finals Jitters. No pairings, no worries, no timeline.**

 **Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit off of Harry Potter and associated merchandise; all rights still reside with J. K. Rowling and co. where they belong.**

The Day Dumbledore Snapped

Well, no one really noticed.

Until the laxatives kicked in.

Streams of students fled their tables, starting off with a few who ate too quickly, until the trickle became a flood, with children shouting and elbowing and crying to escape the Great Hall in favor of a toilet stall not haunted by Myrtle. (Some were willing to take that risk, however, as the flight grew more desperate).

Above it all at the Head Table, a strange sound had begun, at a pitch just audible above the sheer chaos at the exits of the Great Hall, in the bubble of emptiness that encompassed the abandoned House tables, laden with uneaten food.

It was a laugh.

While the professors surveyed the mass exodus with horror, Albus Dumbledore had quietly begun to chuckle to himself. Then chortle. Then full belly laughs that eventually transitioned to something more hysterical.

"Now, really, Albus," Sprout scolded disbelievingly, agape at this inappropriate display of his usually jovial manner, "This is no time to be laughing."

"The twins have _really_ outdone themselves," McGonagall muttered with a faraway expression, as if unwilling to _quite_ accept this reality, even if she were being forced to live in it.

"Filch will have a field day," Flitwick ran a hand over his beard nervously, and the professors groaned as one at the reminder of the upcoming ranting session they could expect once the squib caretaker realized exactly what the Great Hall was currently stained with.

"That's it; they're expelled," McGonagall decided, still vaguely detached in tone, "I may as well bring Gryffindor down to the negatives and wave away the House Cup for the next ten years."

"Now, Minerva, there's no need for that," Albus chortled, coming down from the extremes of laughter he'd been visiting and wiping his eyes with a sigh.

"That's just blatant favoritism at this point, Headmaster-" Flitwick was saying, even while Snape was muttering some not-as-kindly-put agreements to this way of thinking, and McGonagall had whispered, "But they are Devil spawn."

"No, no, Mr. and Mr. Weasley are not the perpetrators of this particular incident," Albus waved off, and before the professors could blink, admitted, "No, that fault lies with me."

"What." The word was said flatly and bluntly, packing a hundred questions behind the single, stated word.

Albus looked over his half-moon glasses and his eyes crinkled in a smile, "You always were one to adapt hastily to new situations, my dear Severus."

"WHAT," McGonagall shouted, standing from the table and ignoring the chair that fell behind her with a loud clatter in favor of staring the Headmaster down for a better explanation.

"And there's Minerva, in second place, well done, my dear."

"Albus, you must be joking," Sprout put in.

"I don't… feel well," Flitwick mumbled, and Elective Studies Professor One patted his hand sympathetically. While the other professors lambasted a cheerily humming Albus Dumbledore, who appeared to be occasionally glancing at his pocket watch, Flitwick found himself more than a little disconcerted. The room felt a little… hot. And… spinny? Was that a word? Could he call it that? He could… He could call it whatever he liked when he felt this… this…..

Flitwick quietly planted his face in his potatoes as he sank into both their mushy depths and further unconsciousness.

"Are you alri… Are you…" Elective Studies Professors One through Four followed suit with Flitwick's exemplary behavior to the growing consternation of the only one paying attention: Hagrid.

Slowly the remaining three House Heads' arguments grew sluggish and less logical, and Snape pointed at Albus accusingly.

"You… You _drugged_ us, you pointy-bearded kaleidoscope."

Albus's face grew to encompass Snape's field of vision, the twinkling twinkly twinkles in his eyes escaping their bounds and dancing about the edges before he succumbed to the darkness with Albus' accompanying, "Shhhhh."

"Perfesser Dumbledore, why…?" Hagrid wrung his big, meaty man-paws, looking up at the Headmaster with the liquid brown eyes of a puppy dog.

"Shhh," Albus repeated soothingly, placing his entire grandfatherly hand over Hagrid's face, "Stupefy." His wand hand was free to point his wand at Hagrid's chest and shoot red beams of sleepy time magic all it liked, because Hagrid was still standing.

"Dumbledore," Hagrid said, "Ye know I'm half-giant."

"Stupefy," Albus explained again, and Hagrid blinked sleepily under the Headmaster's palm.

"Dumbledore, why would you…" He yawned, "Why would you…"

"Stupefy," Albus concluded firmly, satisfied when his groundskeeper slumped bonelessly to the floor. Surveying the empty Great Hall, he nodded curtly to himself and stepped over the unconscious bodies of his fellow staff-members. _Past time to begin work, I believe._

Before he began, however, he paused and announced to the jewel-filled hourglasses holding the House scores, "Five points from Slytherin."

He looked _nothing_ like a kaleidoscope.


	2. Fudge

**Did I say two to three chapters? I lied just a little bit because I'm going to get carried away before Albus accomplishes his end goals and it all becomes clear.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit off of Harry Potter; J K Rowling is the creator and owner of all such.**

The Minister of Magic enjoyed his eclaires; he did. He enjoyed them more than any other food, but his wife so rarely let him eat to his heart's content. Something about sugar. He didn't tend to listen very closely when she went on one of those rants, too busy shielding his face and rocking in the corner. The woman terrified him, even back in their youth when their parents had arranged the whole marriage. On his own, he'd never lift a finger against her… Currently, though, his Undersecretary Umbridge had taken care of that, telling his wife he was in a series of back-to-back meetings all day and placing the order on the sly. When the eclaires finally arrived, well…

Minister Fudge was savouring one from an obscenely large pile on his desk when his floo flared and a baby blue blur threw itself sideways out of the fireplace, a flash encompassing the entire scene before Dumbledore- for who else was keyed into the wards about his floo and wore _that sort of thing_ \- ducked and rolled out of the office.

The Minister blinked, eclaire still held between his teeth. He could hear his Undersecretary's "Well, I never!" and then something like a shriek of fury that became a ribbit. Gathering his wits about him, the Minister made his way to the door and peeked out of his office.

Albus was standing above a truly enormous toad and festooning it with pink ribbons. Peering more closely, Fudge could tell there were little slogans written in white font on each one. _Free the House Elves!_ read one, _Equal Rights for Equestrian Brothers!_ said another. By the time Dumbledore was done, the toad was fairly trussed up, and a final addition of a bright pink bow kept its mouth firmly shut.

While perhaps if Fudge believed in all this You-Know-Who nonsense Albus had been warning of since the man "vanished" then there might have been guards stationed in the office, he found himself quite alone. Unfortunately, while there were tighter patrols of the area and rather strong wards against any not keyed in, Fudge had no delusions that an Auror could hear him before Albus turned on him. Knowing this, he had quite firmly kept his mouth shut in favour of living his life as a bipedal mammal while his Undersecretary kept the clearly deranged old man's attention.

However, the toad was well and truly trussed, so Albus's cheery little death beams tracked their way to him and Fudge whimpered as their gazes met.

Waving a developing photograph in the hand not holding his wand (how had he missed that? Was that what that flash had been?), Albus smiled, "Cornelius, my boy, it is past time we had a little chat."

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 _Who will he visit next? What could he possibly be doing? Why did he snap in the first place? Learn all that and more- eventually!_


	3. The Fountain of Magical Brethren

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit off of Harry Potter.**

In the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, two refreshment-toting-memo-lackeys were sitting, out on break, chatting quietly about the week's events. There'd been an odd event at a few different plants recently, and as the chatter of the room washed around them, Memo Lackey One set down their Generic Refreshment – Now with Added Blandness.

"It's a clear case of a magical attack," He or she admitted, "but all the reports I've been filing on it say they can't understand why anyone would actually target such a place."

"They're food processing plants, aren't they?" The Other One prodded, "Surely some idiot or another may see it as the first place to target if they're going after muggles."

There was a loud crash as one of the walls of the atrium gave up the ghost and the screaming began. Ministry workers fell over each other fleeing the area, even as someone hysterically called for the Aurors.

"Well, not exactly," Memo Lackey One continued, unperturbed by the mayhem, "They don't produce anything _important_ , you know? Very strange."

Bricks and stone from the debris were floating past, behind Memo Lackey One's head, in the direction of the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

"Could be a disgruntled ex-employee," the Other One pointed out, "We practically haemorrhage muggleborns back to that world once they graduate, after all."

A figure cloaked in baby blue was performing some hopping dance in circles about the newly created Dumbledore Monument where the Fountain of Magical Brethren once stood. A magnificent, slightly lopsided bird spread its wings across the atrium, the long neck arched downward so a thin stream of water could fall from each eye back into the fountain it had co-opted.

"What is that supposed to be?" the Other One finally asked, taking notice of their surroundings at last. As he or she spoke, the bird burst into flames undaunted by the water streaming from its eyes and a laugh echoed maniacally through the atrium, followed by the loud _crack_ of someone managing a disapparition through the wards.

"Phoenix," the two memo lackeys concluded flatly together.

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 _What could the point of all this be? Where is Dumbledore going next?  
Why won't I stop asking these questions? Some of that and more- next chapter!_


	4. The Board of Governors

**Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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"No," a voice echoed loudly, reverberating through the bones of the almost-elected officials – really, so much bribery was involved, the seats were basically bought – and the scribe in the corner spoke up plaintively.

"I just started reading the minutes."

"The minutes are boring," the voice retorted grandly, and a phoenix appeared in a gout of flames before dropping a sealed parchment to the ground, "And never to be read again."

There was a noise like air escaping an angry balloon animal before the scribe scooped up the scroll and paled, attitude dissipating, "This is the minister's seal." A beat, and a minor stampede of curious board members crowded the scribe's usually lonely corner.

"Well?" demanded Stuffy Official Jr., of the Ancient, Noble, and Official House of Official, the most widespread and respected of all pureblood families, and definitely mentioned by Voldemort _and_ the Ministry as being the bestest on several occasions, "Did the minister ban the reading of the minutes, or some other nonsense?" Being an Official, Stuffy Jr. knew very well how idiotic their current leader was, but had yet to come entirely to terms with it.

"He's… disbanded the board," Malfoy summarized with only a hint of a scowl, disdain coloring the dark, secret underbelly of his words a gentle yellow-green mucus color as he read over the petrified scribe's shoulder, "And reinstated the original Board of Trustees, which requires election by the parents of currently attending schoolchildren, as well as…" He shot an evil glare at the calmly preening phoenix currently perching on a lopsided lamp, "A majority vote for acceptance of the candidate by the school staff. How… archaic."

As the meeting devolved into agitated chatter and a spirited game of blame-tossing, Malfoy leaned back against the wall calculatingly, like villains do, and villainously ruminated on the possibilities, as a villain should. But one thing was nagging at his villainous thoughts, running through his villainous mind and distracting him from his villainous schemes. He'd thought he had Fudge in his villainous pocket – how had this slipped through his villainous seams? "How _did_ they do it…" he murmured, and winced a moment later as the booming, echoing voice declared:

"Eclaires."


	5. Harry Potter

**I neither own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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"HARRY POTTER!"

"Jesus Christ!" Harry rolled off the bed in an automatic dodge, eyes glancing wildly around the empty room.

"BRING ME HARRY POTTER!" The booming voice demanded, shaking the windows. He heard his aunt shriek in the other room before Uncle Vernon had thrown open Harry's door. It bounced back and he barely avoided a smack to the face with one raised, meaty hand blocking its progress. More annoyed than before, skin the white of a bleached bone, Vernon reached in and grabbed Harry by the arm.

"Come with me, boy!" He pulled his nephew up roughly, "They want you; they can have you!"

"If it's Death Eat- er, the bad wizards, they wouldn't be able to make it past the wards!" Harry exclaimed, fighting the grip on his arm but only succeeding in pulling himself off balance as Vernon manhandled him down the stairs, "That's literally the entire reason I have to live here!"

"We'd have to go out sometime," Vernon shot back furiously, "So unless you want your aunt and cousin's deaths on your conscience, I'd go quietly!"

Well, he wasn't _wrong_ , persay.

Vernon pulled his nephew through the front door and shoved him at the dark robed wizard standing outside, hood drawn and wand extended.

"Here! Now- now leave us alone! We've done what you wanted!"

Harry's wand was upstairs and he raised his fist, ready to slug his lone assailant and escape, if he got the chance. A deep sigh emanated from the figure before he pushed his hood back, allowing silvery hair and beard to spill out into the open air, "My dear Dursleys, your lives were never in any danger. This was merely a test." His bright blue eyes swam with tears, "And I fear your failure is mine, as well. Oh, Harry, can you ever forgive me?"

"Er, sure, Headmaster," Harry replied, a little dazed from the abrupt turn of events. His uncle had crossed the last line and offered him to his death, which had turned out to be the headmaster of Hogwarts, who had apologized for the betrayal that wasn't a betrayal on his part but- okay, Harry was just going to let it go for the moment and wait for his mind to sort itself out.

He'd almost punched the headmaster!

He'd almost _punched an old man_!

Harry felt his face flush as he finally lowered his fist, Dumbledore taking the moment to pull him into an uncomfortable hug, the likes of which he probably would have welcomed, say, four years ago when he'd been eleven.

The headmaster drew back and patted his shoulder, twinkling at him, "Well, we've things to do, Harry. Do hold on."

"What?"

The Dursleys, listening from where they huddled behind the front door, heard nothing more than a loud crack and lingering silence.


	6. Muggleborns

**I neither own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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"Yes, you're a witch, keep up," the batty old man informed her, a concerned, dark-haired teen at his side and a posse of young children nodding behind him as they spoke up in support of the idea.

"We've all done strange things sometimes, and it turns out we're not crazy!" One exclaimed.

"And it's not the devil!" Another added happily.

"That's right, One and Another," Dumbledore agreed, twirling his wand and producing a crown of flowers he handed to his latest muggleborn acquisition, "And being untrained in wandwork means that a powerful and skilled enough wizard could guide your unhindered magic in a fun and exciting spell to help find some treasures! What do you say, my dear girl?"

Her parents had always told her not to speak to strangers, never to accept their gifts or go anywhere with them… And that teenager _was_ kind of frowning... But she was ten years old and this old guy _was a wizard_ offering her _magical education!_ She put the crown on her head and grinned, "Let's go!"


	7. Amok Amok Amok

**I neither own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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"Now that we have an accurate map, and you've got the sword of Gryffindor, there," Dumbledore walked calmly through the cloud of children running amok in Hogwarts' halls, "We can get to business."

"They're fine, right?" Harry pressed, glancing at the hyper kids uneasily and clutching the sword tighter to his side, "Really fine?"

This concern was waved off with an airy hand, "Oh, of course, they're alright, do you take me for a two-bit magician? Now we've got a stop to make before we address the second treasure in Hogwarts." Behind them, the door to the Room of Requirement was expanding and contracting with noises not unlike chewing.

"THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!" Another screamed, streaking past the two tallest occupants of the corridor in a green and yellow splashed outfit, a cackling Peeves hot on his or her tail. Utterly unfazed, Dumbledore expelled and sent off a glowing silvery phoenix from his wand before holding out a stone to Harry.

"Touch this rock."

Harry obeyed the command unthinkingly, still watching Another's flight down the hall with a mein of worry, and it was only as he turned back to Dumbledore, hand on the stone clasped in the other man's weathered fingers, that he thought to ask, "Wait, why-"

The children cheered as the older duo vanished from the hall and returned to running rampant through the magical castle over which they now had free reign.


	8. Burning a Hole in your Pocket

**I neither own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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"Isolated bursts of fiendfyre are popping up all over Britain!" Ministry Official Two exclaimed to Boss Person, running from scroll to scroll that had manifested during his or her extended break.

No one had thought to retrieve him or her after the Dumbledore Monument had gone up and he or she had enjoyed the time away from work until Boss Person remembered there were supposed to be subordinates running around the office and getting underfoot.

"There's less than seven reported incidents," Boss Person droned in reply, uncrossing their ankles and switching up their stacking order from where they lay, propped up on the desk, "That's not even a good ping with the recent disarmaments."

"It's _fiendfyre_ ," Ministry Official Two stressed in a rare moment of lucidity, "And one of them took out the entire Lestrange vault before it was mysteriously extinguished!"

Boss Person's Hot Beverage went flying to the floor as their feet left the desk and they sat upright with alarm, "Well, why didn't you just say so? It's always a job for the Ministry if it involves _money_!"

Alarms were sounded throughout the small, monitoring department that alerted the Aurors the next floor up. Unfortunately the memo regarding where and when and _what_ had occurred was buried in the backlog of paper airplanes that comprised most Aurors' inboxes. And set on fire. Somehow. Thus an Auror needed to actually go down to the monitoring team and ask what was going on.

If only they could remember where it was.

Tonks shared a conspiratory glance with Kingsley and slid the previously helpful signs meant to direct anyone looking for said office a little further under her desk.


	9. The Master of Death

**I neither own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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"Okay, why am I holding these?" Harry asked, invisibility cloak in one hand and a ring in the other. Dumbledore had muttered over said ring, turning his head dramatically one way and the other, away from the sight, eyes glistening with tears before he finally and with much flourishing dripped basilisk venom over the ring until it steamed an inky blackness and emitted a high pitched scream not until a kettle boiling over.

"Oh, wait, put the ring on, first," Dumbledore instructed, Harry reluctantly and slowly following the command. Spreading his arms wide, wand in hand, Dumbledore smiled sweetly, "Now come at me."

"I haven't got a wand!" Harry protested, "And _why_? Why are we _doing_ all this?"

"I'll ban you from the Quidditch team if you don't manage to disarm me in the next five minutes," Dumbledore informed him cheerily.

The unprovoked threat stopped Harry dead in his tracks for a moment.

But just for a moment.

 _Alright, fine,_ Harry thought, readying himself with just a tinge of hysteria, _I guess I'm going to punch an old man._

The headmaster's crazed smile widened.


	10. Bassett's Production

**I neither own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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The voice cut through the headache with a furious hiss, "Where is he?"

"Yes, I'm doing terribly, thank you for asking," Minerva retorted, one hand going to her head as she peeled her face off the table. It was always better to deal with Severus at her full height.

Other professors were rising from the tabletop, too. "We were _all_ betrayed," Filius put in with a tremble of emotion in his voice, "How could this have happened? Why would Albus turn on us?"

"I… I don't know what would drive him to this," Sinistra said in a small voice, wiping mashed potatoes from the side of her face.

Most of the faculty were at a loss to explain this unexpected turn, hearts hurting and minds bewildered. On the other side of the coin, Severus was already stalking down the Great Hall, throwing his hands up and out as he went on under his breath about doddering old idiots and their grudge matches.

Having successfully helped a groggy Hagrid to his feet, Pomona looked after the agitatedly muttering man in mystification as he made his way out, "Where could he possibly be going?"

With a swirl of dark robes, Severus stopped at the door to growl, "Bassett's Production," before he whirled dramatically back onto his warpath and vanished around the corner.


	11. Department of Mysteries

**I neither own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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Public Enemy Number One's voice drifted out of the chamber, "Well, you'll just tell it what to do, I suppose."

"I really don't like this," his hostage replied, voice betraying the depths of his unease with the situation.

The Unspeakables cowered in the Time room, door cracked slightly to the entry chamber to allow better clarity of eavesdropping.

"Harry, they come from death," the baby blue figure gesturing at his hostage was momentarily visible before they walked past into the death chamber, "We've already compromised on avoiding Azkaban because you don't want that many around, so you'll just have to pull one out of the veil."

"...I suppose it's better than your first plan." The hostage was sounding more and more like a co-conspirator the longer they listened, "I didn't fancy stepping in front of Voldemort and asking him politely."

"What's going on in-" Generic Coworker was shushed urgently by the crowd of Unspeakables and waved over.

"Public Enemy Number One is out there with a hostage," someone informed her, "or an accomplice. It's fuzzy."

"So, stop him!" She stood from the crouch she'd instinctively mirrored only to be pulled back down.

"Are you insane?" her savior hissed, "The Undersecretary is so terrified of him she had him declared Public Enemy Number One!"

"Yes, I got that." Generic Coworker made to get up and do something and was summarily tackled by the rest of her department.

"You don't understand," one of her newfound shackles told her in an urgent whisper, "Dolores Umbridge doesn't have the sense magic gave a jellyfish. I saw her tell off a dementor for its ragged hood, once!"

"I heard she accidentally blocked Voldemort when they were both walking down the sidewalk, refused to step aside, and he let her go for sheer stupid obliviousness!"

"She's denser than a wrecking ball, but somehow it's got through her thick skull to be afraid of _this man_ ," Generic Coworker's original savior concluded, "So do you really want to go confront him right now?"

"...No," she admitted reluctantly, and the dogpile of her coworkers heaved a sigh of relief, sliding off of her, "But don't you think we should barricade the door?"

"Oh, _here's_ where you've all been hiding." Aforementioned door had swung open and brilliant light streamed in, backlighting Dumbledore and accentuating the similar shine from his ever-twinkling eyes. The Unspeakables attempted to shield themselves from the light, but it was no use. No amount of squinting or spells could hold out the glow of Headmaster and Former Supreme Mugwump Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore when he was Accomplishing great Tasks! He hefted Harry's unconscious form a little higher, "Shouldn't you be offering to carry my luggage?" With a chuckle, he eased past them and laid Harry out on the table, "Youth these days. No respect for their elders." He arranged Harry's limbs so the boy wouldn't fall, "Would you mind keeping an eye on him? He's a darling child but he can be a bit of a handful when he gets an idea in his head." Another, fond laugh, "They all can, I suppose. Well, have a nice time with dear Harry. I'm sure he'll have nothing but good things to say about you once I return."

With that, Albus turned to leave, humming a nonsensical tune under his breath. At the threshold, he paused, making the Unspeakables flinch as one before he added, "I almost forgot. Do tell Harry I'll have accomplished our errand by the time he wakes." A blinding smile was thrown back at them like a flash grenade and once the Unspeakables finished blinking the sunspots from their eyes, Dumbledore was long gone.

They glanced from the door to the teenage icon laying on the table, and Generic Coworker nodded to herself. Finally there was something she could do about all this. She clapped her hands together and stood, taking charge of the situation with a firm, "Alright, let's get to it." At the blank looks, she sighed, shedding some authority as she elaborated, "Okay. We can start by getting him a pillow." There was only some uneasy movement within the crowd so Generic Coworker rolled her eyes and gestured to push her department into motion, "Chop, chop!"

Thus began one of the oddest shifts in the Department of Mysteries in recent memory.

Well, at least it was an easy one.


	12. Voldemort

**I neither own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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From the reports of his ever dwindling minion supply, a terrifying figure was cutting through his ranks with horrifying displays of expert transfiguration. Non-lethal, to be sure, but not something anyone would come back from with a full stack of mental playing cards. More and more pureblood houses fell to this vigilante's wand, and the reports, once gushing in, fell to a trickle and stopped.

There was really only one person it could be.

But why?

If he had had this power all along, what could have pushed him to finally use it?

It couldn't be…

No, he refused to believe it.

That had been a small, spiteful act of revenge, meant to bother the old man in his ivory tower - not drive him completely off his rocker! The series of factories he'd destroyed… Bassett's Production, wasn't it? Well, he knew there'd been some sort of fixation there, but not to this extent!

The nearest wall imploded, paused, then twisted out of existence.

"This will be the last time we meet, Tom," Dumbledore intoned gravely, beard flapping in the breeze and eyes alight with the fire of righteous fury, an unfamiliar wand in one hand and a trussed rat in the other, "You should never have touched my supply."


	13. The Wizarding World

**I neither own nor claim to own Harry Potter and co.**

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"He pleads temporary insanity, my lords and ladies," a dishevelled and harried-looking Severus said from his low bow in front of the much diminished Wizengamot's emergency evening session.

Dumbledore drew himself up in the layers of chains they'd draped over him once he'd turned himself in, "I am in possession of my full fa-"

"Ongoing temporary insanity," Severus interrupted.

The once grand governing body muttered amongst themselves, a few snide remarks coming across a little too clearly for one of the headmaster's character witnesses.

"He saved the Wizarding World and freed an innocent man!" Harry exclaimed heatedly, clutching Sirius's hand unabashedly in his, "And he saved my life! He should be lauded, not locked up!"

"He did it by breaking numerous laws and restrictions," the presiding Madam Griselda Marchbanks looked over her spectacles at him, "We do not smile upon vigilantism, Mr. Potter."

"As you shouldn't," Severus broke in smoothly, with a glare Harry's direction. It was returned. "Yet there were extenuating circumstances. The headmaster is not… in full control of his actions at this time. He… You'd have to see it to believe it." The last sentence was wry, more to himself than to the esteemed Wizengamot, but he pushed on, "May I be allowed to present the defendant with something? I assure you, it would clarify matters."

Madam Marchbanks eyed him, but waved him over to have the small, unmarked sack inspected. The Auror who looked into it gave the dour man a concerned stare before tapping it with his wand and handing back the bag, declaring it harmless, muggle, and unaltered by magic or potion with an uncertain tone.

"Here you are, Albus," Severus gently placed the bag in front of the Headmaster, who opened it and gasped.

"Oh, Severus… But wasn't Bassett's destroyed?" Tears were trickling down into his long, white beard, and big blue eyes looked up, almost unwilling to hope and be disappointed.

"I took care of it," the potions professor replied curtly, hands clasping behind his back as he exchanged a glance with Madam Marchbanks that said merely, _Watch and wait_.

"I thought I'd never have these again," Dumbledore dreamily pulled a lemon sherbet from the sack, lips trembling in a watery smile of gratitude. He popped the sweet into his mouth with relish and for a moment there was only bliss on his face as his eyes slid shut.

A long moment, actually.

The Wizengamot sat in impatient, confused silence until Dumbledore's eyes opened once more and he jerked back in his seat, chains rattling and causing the respected members of the Wizengamot to react in kind.

"What are you all doing in my office?" he asked, eyes landing on a long-suffering Severus in the next moment, "Severus? What in the world is going on?"

"Douse him with veritaserum," Severus informed Marchbanks dryly, ignoring his employer, "and he will tell you himself he has no clue what's transpired over the past day. As you all can see."

"Temporary insanity," Marchbanks echoed in a faint voice.

"Temporary insanity," Severus confirmed.

And thus it was that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore walked bewilderedly free to a happier, safer wizarding world. A world in which Severus was finally able to quit teaching snot nosed brats, Minerva had to round up and return a group of abducted children that came happily back to Hogwarts the next year to blast previous years' first test grades out of the water, Bassett's was declared a worldwide magical dead man's zone, and Harry Potter was just another teenager in possession of immensely powerful magical artifacts-

Oh, right.

Well...

That's another story.

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